


The Dawn Comes

by V_mum



Series: Kaayras Adaar [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Haven, Hurt/Comfort, Minor canon divergence, Religious Undertones, Secrets, The Dawn will come, between cannon occurrences, faith - Freeform, more like, not really - Freeform, secretive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 00:46:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17908856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_mum/pseuds/V_mum
Summary: He faces corypheus alone, with nothing. nothing but knives. Knives, and a desperation- only a drive and two knives, and armour he made himself, skills he taught himself.He backs away from her- not one step, but two. He's afraid.“I watched you die for me.”





	The Dawn Comes

Sometimes, its pride that drives the Search. Rarely- more often there's better cause, like paranoia, like necessity, like strength, like power, like The Game.

She's not playing any game, though. And suppose, she could consider this a necessity- an importance- this is  _ need to know information  _ and the inquisitor is silent on it, driving her search for information.

It is deeply difficult to fight rumors about a Tal-Vashoth Inquisitor’s origins, when you have next to no information on them. No evidence to back up his background- documentation, a witness, even a story from the man himself.

It's very well  _ possible _ that this recent rumor spread by a duke in the north that Inquisitor Kaayras fled the qunari’s order because he killed several children is true. Possible or not, she’ll strike this rumor down like all the others, with simple reason and logic. Because anyone whos met the inquisitor through hiring, knows he's broken numerous mercenary contracts just because a child was involved- and she has proof of that, too. Other rumors, scathing letters sealed with important signature (might fine blackmail for the future), bounties on his head, all for failing to kill a child, decimate a whole family, or whatever else he was payed to do. Even one furious letter from one company to another that Kaayras Adaar killed another mercenary; one who took the aforementioned job to kill a family and their children. Adaar killed the other mercenary, supposedly, to protect them even though he’d been the last one on the job. its coupled with a more heartwarming letter from the mother of the family, thanking him for their help around the farm that fall harvest in Harvestmere two years ago, no idea that Adaar was actually hired to kill them at one point. 

She’ll destroy such a silly rumor with ease, whether she knows the real origins of their Herald, or not. Mostly because it's ludicrous, silly, and easy to do. But also, because its her job, and she will tackle even the most difficult to refute rumors.

That said- its a point of  _ pride  _ at times. Because, no, it's… not always of utmost importance she have information on the Inquisitor’s background. No, she needs to focus on the mages closing in from Tevinter upon the rebels in redcliff, is what she needs to do. That is necessity. 

But it's almost like an  _ insult _ to her reputation. It would seem no one but the Qunari themselves know where Kaayras Adaar came from. Aside from the Herald himself, of course. But she neither has agents in the right parts of qunari to find out for her, nor Adaar telling her these answers.

And that's where it becomes a point of pride most specifically- perhaps, yes, she could sit him down and explain how important it is that she knows, to help protect him, all of them, from nasty rumors circulating himself and the inquisition as a whole. Perhaps he’d even tell her the truth, and not just some hint from his body language or emotions that would help her on her investigation when he refuses.

But that would be admitting there's no way for her, on her own, to find those secrets. Admit defeat, simply because she is dealing with someone of an exterior government? Unless absolutely  _ necessary _ , why give up so soon? On the addition, this sort of exercise also gives her a good idea of how difficult it would be for someone else to dredge up dirty history and secrets about their to-be inquisitor. So far, with how her luck has come, the answer is maybe  _ no one _ can, outside the qunari.

She has scraps. Scraps entertained by what she knows of qunari- what she already knew, and what she researched since the start of the inquisition- books on the heritage and the culture (some recently loaned to one inquiring dwarf- she suspects Varric may be her next  _ informative visit  _ in her mission to figure out the Herald) of the Qunari people. 

Prideful creatures, they are, for example. If they aren't good at it, they don't do it in public. So the first hints came with what Adaar found himself doing around people, of course. What he did before defecting, he may well do in public now. More than likely the case, seeing as Qunari are raised for but one job. 

He speaks common tongue well with everyone, and he fights well, but those can be learned in the mercenary business. He may have been a soldier, an agent of ben-hassrath, or neither. He may not have been a fighter at all, became one after defecting only because it is easy for a qunari, given the natural physique and size. 

He likes to  _ make _ some things. He makes the paint for his face, he makes his own potions- primarily healing draughts- he crafts his own equipment- learning every day new recipes on his travels for new armour, personally outfitting the inner circle himself. But once again- things learned in a mercenary business, things learned when you are out on your own in the world, fighting for survival.

The very nature of his fighting style- a rouge, a shadow with two blades- it's the kind of self taught thing she can see  _ hiccups  _ in, missteps, mistakes. Something Cassandra has been vigorously training him, to repair, to fix wrongs in the way he fights. It’d be easier if they had someone who fought like that in their group. Varric leaned toward traps and arrows, sera as well, even more brazen. There wasn't anyone else in the inquisition to show him better knife skills- even Leliana herself favored her bow. 

There is, unfortunately, not much else to go on then… fighting related things.

Fighting and Making and Killing are the only things he seems to do, capable of doing.

Ah- no, that's- not quite right. He’s insistent on helping, kind hearted to fault. So many silly mission reports- the fact he writes mission reports for finding lost wedding rings for widows, or informing people he’s unfortunately come across their dead lovers or family in the field, a detailed report on a man in redcliff for whom he took flowers to his wife’s grave.

He takes helping, making people happy, too seriously.  _ Depressed at the loss, he was. But he says it was better to know she died than to not.  _ Was a sad little note he’d left her. Sad- depressing, because it just was. But sad because he shouldn't be spending so much time, energy, focus on making people happy, or ‘feel good’. In hindsight, that note was also a part of a mission report, and was what Lord Berand had said before his recruitment into the inquisition. Which is a great help, in terms of alliances and connections. 

But still- to take so much  _ time _ to find a dead person's family! It was  _ sad _ .

Maybe, if he hadn't taken so much time in the hinterlands on such little things as returning missing Druffalo to some backwater farmer, perhaps the inquisition would have beaten Tevinter to redcliff and avoided so much trouble in the first place- if at all possible. Time magic was a dangerous game to hear about- much worse than any silly Orlesian Games she was used to. Time Magic wasn't something she could begin to understand, not to the extent the Inquisitor experienced.

She expends so much resource and time, trying to dig something up on him, on the History of the Herald. On what he was  _ for _ among the Qun, on why he is Tal-Vashoth now, on why he holds it so secret. Mysterious Secrets are the most important to know- she thinks.

She spends so much time on it. Too much effort. It is as much her problem- her fault- as it was Inquisitor Kaayras’ that they did not make it in time to redcliff. That a horrible future  _ almost _ occured.

History was important, but when he returns- with his tale and a new tag along member from Tevintar- a history even more rich with imperium rumor- she can only think more of future than  _ history _ . Of dangerous, dangerous future. Red Lyrium, Mortal Men turned terrible, and some sort of ‘godly’ elder one and a sky that is only The Fade.

After the meet up in the chantry hall, she works in her tent. Thinking. Not so much about the past as she usually means to. This ‘future’- only a  _ year _ if they mistepped in today. It would take a year for the sky to open as a maw and vanish The Veil. Only a year for the populous to be a living, breathing red lyrium mine. Only a year before genocide and death, enslavery or murder for everyone around her in this very camp. 

So fast, the future could come. She has to stop looking back, she must. Rumors can be aswaded, even without knowing the truth. She must look forward at the threat, not behind. If the inquisitor- so sweet and so invested in every minor issue of the common people it was  _ sad _ \- was going to keep a swallowed history and spend precious time fixing small, unhelpful things, well then. She would have to be ready to use those things for their influence. To make his small triumphs big. To combat those rumors with truth- truth, that the Herald of Andraste was here to do good, was doing good, and cared for every right, good, living thing.

It was not  _ difficult _ to spin such an angle on him, not in the least, given how nearly truth it was. It would be easier- and more helpful-

And yet, it was  _ failing,  _ the challenge of it all _ - _

“Leliana.”

“Inquisitor.” 

She doesnt look up from the paperwork. She won't admit out loud she was not paying attention- enough so that she didn't hear him, even with his heavy steps, approach her.

Immediately she starts to remind him of the problem at hand- another he’s caused, sadly, from being too… soft. Too kind. she reminds him of the seriousness of what he's done, taking the mages as allies, such a serious stance. He says it was the right thing to do at the time. Soft.  _ too soft _ . A Qunari, too  _ soft _ . She’d not expected they’d have this problem when they were establishing the inquisition. She was expecting someone more like Iron Bull. 

Seems she fell, herself, to a rumor about Qunari and their behavior.

He says something akin to “i'm not afraid” at the end. She has to warn him that's not the point.

Adaar’s never afraid of the rumors, it's not why she's warning him. 

Cassandra thinks otherwise. Thinks he hates them- thinks the rumors make him weaker- no, she didn't say  _ weaker _ . She sounded like she was saying they hurt him. But, that is weakness, if he feels them- even if he does not fear them, if he feels those petty rumors then he is weak to them.

He may not be afraid, but, what they say of him, that gets to him anyway. And he’s inviting it, picking such a strong side in a civil war. 

Even if its a dangerous move- she finds it... Admirable. To stand up for them, so boldly, so strongly. She tells him so. That kind of strength is admirable. He’s not afraid- or maybe he is and doesn't know it, but courageous enough it wont stop him from doing what is right.  _ Sadly, too kind _ .

He doesnt say a thing to that. She expected him to. She expected some kind of... A joke, perhaps? A snappy flirt or come back- after time with Dorian, obnoxiously confident, he’s been making even more of the flirtatious, or overly confident jokes. 

It's just a moment of silence, long enough she thinks he's done with the conversation, and looks back at her work, waiting for him to leave.

“I watched you die for me.”

That is a chilling statement. One you cannot ignore easily.

She looks up at him, as one would, if that’s said to you. Holds his gaze, steady. He, though, can't seem to do that. Those keen violet eyes turn away- out of the shadows of her tent, look instead at the sunshine dappled over the chantry doors. He looks to an outstander like he is having but a normal conversation- but he cannot meet her eye.

“You sacrificed yourself, so that i could return here.”

It's not…  _ new  _ information. He’s already said this, recounted it to the other advisors. The whole story, he’d told them already. Torture, and lyrium, and rifts in every garden across Thedas, and the Elder One, and… 

“Of course i did.” she says, easy. She knows who she is. She knows what she would do, in the situation he described. Anything to prevent that world. “One small life, in exchange for a second chance at history.” history- so preoccupied in history, even when talking about herself in the future. “I always loved a bargain.”

She sounds so… light, about it, even to herself.

And he gives her some sort of  _ look _ . Like desperation. Like he doesnt want that kind of answer. A little click, reading every little expression in his face with all the skill of a spy, of a Game Player, all the training one could have in the world for reading a person- a little click, and somehow she understands he wanted her to  _ deny  _ that she would have done it for him.

“I would do it again.” is the first thing she says. Hard, almost icy. If she  _ didn't _ , then that is where they would be- still in that future, all of them probably dead, or worse. Why would he want a different answer? She's almost offended. Does he  _ want _ that future?

His gaze travels- up and down her body. Any man other, and she’d consider less pure thoughts in his head when eyes trail like that, how intensely he studies every inch of her person.

“They… They, uh. They killed Cassandra, too. And- Varric. They were… already. They were already full of the… red stuff, ‘already dead’.” he sounds like he's quoting someone. Maybe her future self. “But. They were first, dragged- uh. Back into the room, already dead. Really that time. dead.” 

She- doesn't know what to do with that.  _ They’d do that again, too. Just like i would do it again.  _ But he doesnt want that answer, so what does he want her to say?

“You all suffered a whole year. It was- very…  _ real _ . You made so sure we knew that. That it was  _ real _ .” 

“But it is not, now. Not any more. Undid. Never meant to be.” she reminds. Pointed. Too pointed. Too pointed, his shoulder moves upright. Terse. His hands twitched- just the smallest movement in a wrist. An almost perfectly disguised  _ flinch _ .

She gives him a moment. Sometimes, he takes his time to think, she’s noticed. She’s seen him have trouble, stringing together words into a sentence. When rushed, he spits out jokes, and they aren't funny ones. She gives him a moment to figure it out. The same way he takes his time to figure it out normally, when he just sits back and lets everyone else talk, listening. She listens, and she watches, too. She knows his tells. She can see when he flinches.

When he gathers what he needs, his weight shifts just right. Backward- with hesitance to speak-  _ as always, when he's not asked to say something, always hesitates _ \- and then forward, onto the other heel. His left foot is dominant, even if he's right handed.

“I- can't stop hearing you say it.” he rumbles. He's too big and too deep to have a tone of voice like that. It's wrong. Its weak.

He doesn't look as weak as he really is. The body fools.

“Though darkness closes, i am shielded by flame.” he gives a little shutter- its not disguised at all; he doesn't notice he did it. “And then the door bursts open. They drag the bodies in… inside.” he’s only really looking at her feet, now. She stills her old habit of shuffling them, or fidgeting her hands, like when she was much younger. She's a trained woman, now. She is not weak. “Andraste, guide me. Maker, take me to your side.”

And she can see it herself. Really, she can. She can see it before her now-  him, struggling not to rush forward, knives clenched in hand and prepared to anyway, jaw clenched. He and Dorian stuck on the throne, no choice but to watch, hoping the magic will activate in time, that they will make their escape at the gave cost. 

A man like this- he can't help but stop every mission to find missing rings, druffalos, or family members. How someone like him could have managed to stay, still, do nothing, watch three people die before his eyes on a  _ gamble _ ?

He's not a man of faith. She knows he's not a man of faith. He left the qun. He had no makers nor gods to have any faith that he would make it, fix what was not meant to be. She did. She said her prayers- the one he's echoing, and she had full faith in Andraste, and her Maker, and the Herald they’d sent her. 

She’s always loved to bargain. Always loved the chance. She has faith.

She can't imagine to be him, to be there. Now, she can smell the deathly guilt, and the helplessness, and the total feeling of being lost on him.

“What- what if we haven't. Just- just because i disappeared, and that was the future- just because it  _ correlated _ doesn't mean it was the cause.” he says. “What if coming back didn't change the future. I failed in redcliff.” she doesn't get the chance to say he didn't  _ fail _ , he just-- “i failed in redcliff, what if i fail again?”

“You won't.”

Thats. That's all there is to it. She walks closer to him.

In some small moments- moments like this- his broad shoulders and his horns and his appearance, they cannot hide him with an appearance that makes one expect confidence, that makes one expect fearlessness. He backs away from her- not one step, but two. His horn grazes a tent pole.

He's afraid.

“You will  _ not _ fail.”

She takes the gloved hand firmly by the wrist. The haunting green flares when his hand seizes, stills and stiffens in her hold.

“You do not have to believe in Andraste, or a blessing, or being sent by the maker.” she holds his hand up, high, to his own face. “You just have to look at the facts.” she is firm. He is scared, but his attention is on her, where it needs to be. The  _ present. _ No future, no history, the present. “You hold what we need. We will close the breach, Adaar. We have the mages, we have the mark. Venatori and Tevinter have been thwarted. You have advisors, and agents, and powerful, supporting people surrounding you. We will close the breach. When the breach is closed, there will be no open sky to the fade. Already, we have changed the future. And that is a fact.”

She lets his hand go. His other grabs where hers was- grip tight. 

He's not  _ as _ scared.

“Come. You've prepared, and, it is time. Cullen, Josephine, and Cassandra should already be in the chantry hall. We will seal this breach- and do it now.”

Perhaps his confidence- the air of it, the expectation of it- perhaps that's fake, an illusion, normally. But he's got a little of it in his step again.

She’s glad. Glad to give him a little piece of her faith- if not in Andraste or himself, she gave a bit of faith in the people he's brought together. 

He's not so scared of the future.

Not until the future he fears  _ buries him alive _ in haven. 

The only warning is some small, skinny kid banging on the front doors,  _ yelling _ he can't  _ help _ unless they let him in. and then already, the red lyrium bastards are upon them. 

This time- this time, it's him who stays behind, while everyone flees behind him, all of them protected to his last breath. He stands forward against  _ everything _ while Haven flees.

He doesn't have faith. She can only leave him behind  _ because  _ of her own faith. She couldn't have sacrificed herself- not without knowing everything would be  _ fixed _ because of her  _ faith _ that the herald would go back and fix everything. She needed faith to stand against the foes, the inevitable, the hopeless.

She’s shaken as she leaves. She needs faith to leave. The last glimpse she sees is his square shoulders. Not confident. No  _ faith _ in anything- not even that he will live, not even that his sacrifice will save the world or anyone in haven, not even that he can make any difference, not even that he will buy them a mere second of time in their evacuation. 

She cant imagine how he faces corypheus alone, with nothing, nothing but knives. Knives, and a desperation- a guilt- this time to save- to prevent- to help- to protect- only a drive and two knives, and armour he made himself, skills he taught himself.

She doesn't know how he can stand there and make this sacrifice so utterly alone, no gods or future to have faith in,  _ alone _ .

She gives him a prayer, a plead, a beg to the Maker in his stead.

She’s the first to join the song of light, knowing, the dawn will come. when her prayer is answered and the Herald returns from certain hopeless death, she knows her faith is rewarded. Her faith is answered by him, and still, he keeps moving with none.

She said it once: she finds his courage to stand up impeccably  _ admirable. _

**Author's Note:**

> and there goes haven, folks, but at least we collected Dorian and more quietly, Cole.


End file.
